Burning Hearts and Sharpened Blades
by Rhedoc
Summary: The Planes are hard to walk, sometimes all a body wants is to set a spell and retire. That's all Rhedoc Gwydion, an Aasimar planewalker, had wanted, but it's far from what he was dealt.
1. Prologue: Decisions

**Prologue: Decisions  
**

I.

He entered the same room he'd stayed in a thousand times before. The Open Shell Inn, deep in the heart of Sigil. The Cage. There was a slight clatter as his sword belt hit the floor, two short-blades landing unceremoniously on the wooden planks that served as ground on the second story. They were soon followed by a small host of daggers and knives, and then a long-blade still sheathed in a back hanger. He reached up and latched the lock on the door, setting a large glaive in the corner delicately, as if it were a newborn he was setting into its cradle for the night. Off came the worn traveling cloak, a size or two too small for him, then the tunic, a size too big. Belt pouches, lock-picks, tools, bags and the like all came down to the floor next.

Rhedoc was his name, Rhedoc Gwydion. Son of Zeus. Or an Asuras. Either way, a rapist and a liar, almost a killer. The half-fiends weren't the only ones with bad parents. Way he saw it, Baator and Mount Celestia were pretty much the same place. He was tall, at six feet, yet not as tall as other Aasimar he'd seen. His hair was golden, not that simple dark yellow of a deep blonde, but golden, shining like the sun itself on a clear day, eyes a similar way, only blue. Again, not the dull blue of a human with blue eyes, no, these almost glowed with an unearthly light. There was no mistaking the wiry, athletic man's heritage, even if you tried to. His frame with lithe, lean, yet muscular, and he clothed it in simple attire; a pair of simple brown pants he'd gotten on Ysgard, and a pair of boots the same. The tunic on the floor was Baatorian, and somewhat hideous, though the cloak…

…it still smelled like her…

The cloak was from Elysium. He let his hair down out of the short pony tail it was confined to when he was out walking the planes. It fell to his shoulders quietly, whispering across his neck. It hid the tears. A bottle lifted to his mouth, and he swallowed a pull from it. Whiskey. When he'd lost his mother, when he'd found out she'd died, he drank as well. Not like this, though, and the drinking made it all go away then. Now, now it just kept hurting, like a dull wound in his chest that couldn't be seen or healed. The light went out on the dirty little room in the filthy little inn, and Rhedoc's head hit the dirty little pillow, the bottle hit the floor.

He was in Ysgard again.

In the clearing was a man with one eye and two birds.

"These runes will force the hand of destiny."

"Are you able to make that choice?"

Her smile.

Her laugh.

That smell of her hair in the morning.

He woke with a start, gasping for air, and covered in a sheen of sweat and tears. First instinct told him it was blood, the tanar'ri'd come back with another job, and had torn into him, he was on his feet in a heartbeat, the long-blade naked in his hand, flickering and flashing in the dim light coming through the window. The Cage was still below, it was night, and none were out and about this street. His breathing slowed, his heart slowed, and he was left standing, naked, holding his sword, the air oppressive.

A long while he stood there, breathing in and out, before he tried sleeping again, laying down on the bed shakily, head resting on the pillow. He curled up into a fetal position and once more sleep took him.

Dreams were never kind to Rhedoc Gwydion.

His hand went into the bag.

Stabbing searing pain, ripping through his head.

Dissolution.

Evaporation.

Naked.

She smiled.

She held him through the night.

Everything was fine.

Alright.

They kissed.

This time, he was on his feet screaming, waving the sword at an imaginary foe, for a few minutes until he'd collected his bearings. The barkeep knocked at the door with a muffled 'alright in there?' and Rhedoc merely popped his head out, blue eyes now red and bloodshot.

"I'm fine. Just having a little trouble sleeping is all."

"Can get you some warm mil" slam. Rhedoc was not interested in warm milk, herbal teas, or any other concoction or folk remedy. He knew what kept him awake, and it was not simple insomnia. It was Cierra.

II.

Raime was a bariaur. A tall half-goat-half-human with long brown hair and soft brown eyes. What's more, she was a priestess, in the service of Freya. She lay asleep in her bed, tauric lower half of a goat sprawled out, human upper half curled around the pillow. Rhedoc was her friend, and she worried about him. He hadn't been the same since Cierra had struck out on her own, the little Aasimar seemed to have taken quite a shine t the other of his kind, and when she left, it was a blow to him. That much was obvious. Poor little guy.

All at once there was someone else in her bed with her. Maybe he was there a while and she hadn't noticed, maybe he just dropped in. Either way, there was a stranger curled up in her bed. She stood, grasping her hammer, then shoved the person awake.

III.

Someone shoved Rhedoc out of bed. He toppled over the side and landed on the hard-wood floor, sending dust flying. With a groan, the Aasimar stood, bewildered for a moment, fumbling for his blades. Then he saw Raime giving him the look of death.

"Oh uh… evening, cutter," he managed to choke out, giving her that winning Rhedoc Grin.

"What are you doing in my bed?" Raime screamed back.

"Sorry. I couldn't sleep… I kept dreaming of her, so I picked your lock and tried to sleep here. I figured another body by me would do the trick,"

Her expression softened, her hammer dropping as she hugged him tightly, almost crying herself. Poor little guy, only needed something fuzzy to cuddle. She looked down at the Aasimar and smiled gently.

"It's alright, Rhedoc. You'll see her again."

"I don't know what I should do. It's entirely intolerable."

"What is?"

"I can't sleep, I can't get her out of my head. I simply don't know what I should do," he said, pulling away as he began to pace about the room.

"Well it's obvious," she told him, very matter-of-factly. That was Raime's style, right to the point.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You have to go after her, you sodding berk."

That was a day ago. Now Rhedoc was standing before a giant ale barrel in a back-alley in the Lady's Ward. He'd paid good money for this gilt rosebud, and as the portal began to open, he knew it was well-spent. He was on his way to Elysium. On his way to Cierra.


	2. Chapter One: Method

**Chapter One: Method**

I.

It was an interesting sensation to say the least. Felt like being very quickly sucked in, then slowly dribbling out, like molasses falling, drop by drop, out of the mouth of its bottle. Then it happened all at once, the strangest part of the experience; freefalling. It was followed, of course, by a sudden and very hard stop, as anyone might expect; had they more than a handful of seconds to think, at any rate. A few Sensates Rhedoc knew had always said no two portals feel the same, and each one was uniquely wonderful. Rhedoc was an Independent. There was nothing "uniquely wonderful" about being dropped unceremoniously on a body's sodding ass, in the middle of a strange plane. No, not wonderful, downright terrifying more like it.

He was slow to rise, planting the butt of the glaive in the dirt and hoisting himself up it like a clumsy spider. Bit by bit he rose to his feet, dusting off Cierra's old cloak, and brushing off the smoky grey leather armor he wore. Plane of Smoke is what the dragon had said. That's where this rig was enchanted. Fifth degree. Something downright special. Anywhere but the Outer Planes, that is. He'd found it on Arcadia, though, horde of a dragon, offered as payment for getting back its sodding egg. Downright addle-coved idea in the first place, but it paid well, and came with a minimal loss of life tag; and after the job from that tanar'ri…

One foot in front of the other, preceded by the glaive's hind-end. Thump, pad pad, thump, pad pad, all the way down the road. He found himself in a sort of sparse forest, golden sunlight streaming through the trees, the sound of a small brook babbling alongside him. The trees were high enough to provide shade, dense and thick, yet not so much so that light was blocked out. It was just generally nice, and after some of the other places he'd been, nice was piking wonderful.

What was it they'd always said about Elysium? Something about good people and bad people? Ah yes, good people always get where they're going in record time, as long as they have good intent. They get there in record time, too, if they stop to do good deeds on the way, which is a downright puzzlement of time and space. Now, evil people were another matter. Took them forever to get anywhere, so went the chant. That suited Mr. Gwydion right down to the ground. He just walked, keeping Cierra and her home in mind. He'd never been here, but if the chant was to be believed, that didn't matter one lick.

II.

He'd been walking nearly five hours, at a steady pace. No need to run, he knew where she was bound. She'd been saying over the past five jobs "we ought to go to Elysium and visit my mum. Get you introduced and take a break." So it seemed logical enough that she would be bound for her mother's house in Elysium. No need to rush. Take it even. Breath slowly, berk, don't get excited. It's just Cierra, you've seen her a thousand times before, slow down, berk!

"Help! Someone help me!"

It came form the woods. Sounded like a man's voice. Now the decision came, run off into the unknown to save the unknown, or keep walking like you didn't hear it? Think quick, think quicker, pike it all, why am I walking into the woods? Damn you, Rhedoc Gwydion, and your impulsive need to do the right thing.

As he chided himself internally, Rhedoc came upon a man. This man was trapped under a log, a wood-cutting axe not far from him. Blood lay in no small amount round the area of the man's legs, and the legs themselves didn't look particularly well-off, what with the log smashing them so neatly into the ground. The man, with his moppish brown hair and dark eyes, now matted with sweat, and bloodshot in fear, cried out to Rhedoc, though the Aasimar barely heard him. Too quickly, Rhedoc had tied his silken rope around the tree trunk and looped the other end over a tree branch. Tight muscles bulged in the wiry Aasimar's arms as he strained at the rope. Rhedoc had never been an exceptionally strong man, and so lifting a log was a bit of a stretch. Still, he had to try.

The two sat silently for the better part of an hour, Rhedoc straining constantly against the weight of the trunk, the man knowing help was either right here with him, or far beyond his call. After an hour of yanking, pulling, and straining, there was some give. Then more. Slowly, inch by inch, the tree budged, lifted, then came further up. Rhedoc quickly tied the rope to another tree-trunk, suspending the log indefinitely as he collapsed to the ground, chest heaving for breath.

"Can't thank you enough, cutter! I thought I was done for right then and there when that tree came down!" the man dragged himself by the nails toward Rhedoc.

Rhedoc simply held up a hand, motioning the man still. "Don't move, you'll hurt yourself further. Here, I'll go get help, you keep some food and water with you, I may be a while." He tossed the man a belt pouch and a few water skins, then shoved up and off, heading further down the path at a brisk jog without stopping to hear anything the man had to say.

And the man was saying something. Something about a hut. Or a cut. Who knew?

III.

It was another half hour before Rhedoc came upon a small cottage there in the forest. The most beautiful and tranquil house he'd ever seen, adorable white walls, golden yellow thatched roofing, with flowers here and there growing in it, and an iron fence surrounding a tiny garden. This place was absolute sodding paradise. There was a woman with blonde hair dressed simply in a dress of tan and a white apron sweeping down the path to the road, and she looked up, seeing Rhedoc.

It is important to note that the woman saw a gentleman with impossibly golden hair and insanely blue eyes dressed in a heavy smoky grey leather armor, a cloak of Elysian make, and carrying a glaive, a long-blade, and two short-swords. This was not a blood who looked kind or happy, and there he was, leaning on an instrument of death, wheezing.

IV.

The woman looked at him, eyes wide in terror. Rhedoc was confused. He raised a hand and she almost screamed before he managed to croak out "there's a man, was trapped under a log… had to lift it… needs help… broken legs…"

Her eyes went normal, she relaxed, then ran into the house. Again, Rhedoc was confused, and so he stood there, leaning on the glaive's haft. This was one barmy plane. Still, it was nice. Cool breeze, yet not cold, warm sun, yet not hot, just entirely pleasant. It did not take long for the woman to burst out of the house carrying a bag, nearly running. She passed Rhedoc off, and so he hoisted the polearm once more and ran after her, having almost caught his breath. Stupid barmy sodding plane and its do-goodiness.

They arrived at the man shortly thereafter, and the woman wasted no words in tending the wound, splinting the breaks and getting the man onto crutches. Apparently she was a healer, or a priestess, or some other thing that knew how to fix injuries. The three of them sat a while in silence before the wood-cutter spoke.

"Thank you both, immensely. From the very bottom of my heart, thank you. If there's anything I can do to repay you, please, tell me what it is."

Rhedoc sat, again, for a few moments, taking all of this in. Things had moved so incredibly fast in this plane, he hadn't had much time to think on things. He'd forsaken his party, his group, his compatriots to follow a girl into a strange plane on the hopes that she liked him well enough to not toss him out on his ass. This was the single most addle-coved thing he'd ever done, and he was now having second thoughts. Both the healer and the wood-cutter were looking directly at him, and he didn't care. The sun came through the trees, warming his face and limbs, while the damp earth was starting to soak his backside. Yet he sat, and thought, and grew even more depressed. This would not end well.

"My name… is Rhedoc Gwydion, I'm an Aasimar from Mount Celestia, originally. I came here to find," he barely got the word 'find' out when the healer piped up.

"Cierra Yuy. You're looking for Cierra!" she chirped, looking a bit over-excited for Rhedoc's taste.

"You… you're him! You're Rhedoc!" said the wood-cutter, "It's a downright pleasure to meet you, sir! A damn fine pleasure!"

Rhedoc all at once found himself confused, bewildered, and shaking hands with two people who seemed to know much more about him than he could be comfortable with.

V.

They had explained that they both knew Cierra, in fact, most of the town did. The town, of course, being the one just an hour's walk from here, in the same direction he'd initially been going. Hell of a coincidence for a man with honest and good intentions on the plane of Elysium. Cierra's mother was the town's baker, and apparently, quite a good one at that. Cierra herself, was something of a daughter, friend, sister, and mother to almost everyone in the town, which made a lot of sense. Too much to be a lie, anyway.

They led him enthusiastically to the town, babbling almost constantly about how wonderful it was to finally meet him, and wouldn't he like to come in for a spot of tea. Well, they babbled right enough, up until he asked if Cierra was home. Then they got very quiet very quickly. That was entirely too ominous.

At least the walk was pleasant, in the sun, mid-afternoon, shaded slightly, with a bit of a breeze across their faces.

VI.

Cierra's mother was named Isabell Yuy, and was every bit as lovely as her daughter. She stood taller than most other women of the town, and waited outside her front door wearing a white apron, gloves, and a long blue skirt, with a green tunic; having, of course, heard that the Great Rhedoc Gwydion, Hero of Mount Celestia, Defier of the Will of Zeus, Savior of the Gnomes of Bytopia was in town, and looking for her daughter.

Rhedoc approached through the streets of the tiny burg, houses crowded tightly together in a very homey manner, cobblestone streets greeting white stone houses with black and red tiled roofs. The town seemed centered on a fountain, or well, or a bit of each, and children ran about screaming and yelling, while men and women stuck their heads out of windows to see what was going on in the street below. It was a very small burg, and apparently he was the first visitor besides Cierra in a very long time.

The miniature procession made its way right up to Isabell's door, where she looked the boy Aasimar over a few times, appraising him. He straightened up, more than his share of uncomfortable, lifting his chin and trying to look impressive, intimidating, not-slovenly, or hopefully some combination of all three. In the end, he failed at all four.

Isabell leaning in, close, almost too close, and Rhedoc had the sour feeling in his stomach that meant he may have to run soon, and run fast. He hated running, almost more than he hated the Astral. And let me tell you, cutters, he hated the Astral.

"You need to eat more. You're too skinny," she said as her stony façade melted away into a genuine smile. Isabell laughed lightly, motioning Rhedoc into the house and away from prying eyes and ears.

VII.

"No! Absolutely impossible, not here!" Rhedoc shouted. He yelled so loud the people spying at the doors and windows nearly fell over.

"I'm sorry, Rhedoc, that's what happened. I'd be glad to help you get her back, but I can't do it on my own," Isabell replied calmly. Her cheeks were stained with fresh tears, as were Rhedoc's.

"Baatezu don't come to Elysium, and they don't capture people there! They're plain evil, for the love of all the powers! It's not possible!"

"But it is, Rhedoc."

"Fine. Fine, then I'm going for her. I'll get her back, or I'll sodding die!"

"That's where I may be able to help you, son," Isabell smiled, opening a very old and very dusty trunk.

The cottage was small, but accommodating, room enough for two, maybe three, but not more. That smell, the one that lingered on her cloak, and played through Cierra's hair, it was everywhere here, and the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling with the pots and pans did nothing to cover it up, nothing at all, and he loved it. There was a small round table at which they now sat, and a counter for preparing food. A large oven sat against the far wall, and at the back were two beds. The rest of the house was littered in boxes and bags and trunks.

She laid a short-sword, still in the scabbard on the table. It was breathtaking to see, simply breathtaking. The scabbard was etched and worked into a constant knot-design, working up over and around ever square inch of it, and interlaced with the leather-carved design, were inlaid strands of silver, ending in a silver heart at the tip of the scabbard, near the point of the blade. The hilt was steel, decorated with strands of gold and silver intertwining down its length, ending in the pommel; which was a ruby heart set into a silver notch.

Holding his breath, he drew the blade from its resting place, and looked upon it. Runes ran the length of the blade, and were inlaid with rubies, forming the shapes of said runes, making it appear as if the runes glowed red as it swung. Nothing short of breathtaking.

"It was mine, when I was about your age, from about the time I met Cierra's father."

"It's… this is a… you were a planewalker?"

"I was. Does it surprise you?"

He shook his head and sighed, standing. He flopped his own short-sword down on the table, replacing it with this new gift, then clasped Cierra's cloak about his neck. He lifted her glaive and groaned under its weight.

"There's one more thing, Rhedoc."

He turned and looked at Isabell. She was holding a bag.

"Cookies, for Cierra, when you find her."

Rhedoc took the cookies firmly in hand and marched from the cottage, a man intent on saving the woman he loved.


	3. Chapter Two: Ribcage and Beyond

**Chapter Two: Ribcage and Beyond**

I.

The oily rain of Sigil beat down heavily on him as he walked. Baatezu. These things were supposed to believe in law and order, no matter how depraved they were otherwise. Slavers? Didn't make much sense, to be sure. Rhedoc walked heavily, almost limping, the weight of the whole situation was fully upon his shoulders, he would die. This was the last ride he'd take, the last adventure for Rhedoc Gwydion, and very likely, he wouldn't even save Cierra in the process. Baator was an ugly place, and if it didn't kill him outright itself, then her captor surely would, and in short order.

Still, it didn't help not to try, and a life without her was a thousand times worse than death at the hands of Baator, or its residents. The rain in Sigil seemed a fitting compliment to his mood. Sickly, angry, and dreary, somehow all at once and somehow muted into a dull patter and smatter. It rolled easily off of Cierra's cloak as it clung to him, a bit too small, though he'd never part with it. Damn fine of Ember to buy him these pants, though. What with being Fated and all.

Ah Factions. That's what made Sigil absolutely unbearable. He himself was a member of the Free League, a group of individualists bent on personal freedom. That more or less meant they wanted to be left alone and out of politics; from the long and short end of things. Ember; a fire genasi he'd been traveling with, which is to say, she had parentage of at least half fire elemental or djinni or some other damn fire thing; was a member of the Fated, a faction claiming something or other, blah blah, nothing is free. Really most of them bored him. Anyway, she did give him clothes on Ysgard after the unfortunate accident with Odin.

Odin, what a sodding berk. "Take a run from my bag, it will help you force destiny's hand." Yeah, or it'd help you get real naked in a real cold plane real fast. Berk.

Then again, if it hadn't happened, he'd not have had Cierra's cloak or glaive. Small blessings everywhere.

Now, where was this sodding portal? He'd been wandering the Hive for hours, and that is not a place even the keenest of bloods wished to wander for more than a few moments. Still, it was heaven compared to Baator, so he had to admit, maybe part of him was not in any particular hurry. Alright, four houses past that building, two over… there it was, a broken window on a pile of rubbish. Well, at least it was glowing when he held out the portal key; an old boot. Right. Go on through. Why is every portal in Sigil located into the Hive? Damnit, there's that sucking feeling again…

II.

WHUMP!

He landed hard and none too gracefully on hard ground. Swords clattered about, bags thumped on the ground, and an Aasimar groaned. Ah the Outlands, that wonderful plane in-between. Wander here long enough and you'd find a portal to anywhere, quite literally. Or you'd die of thirst and starvation after wandering for weeks and not finding anything. That was the way of it. Well, if chant was to be believed, it was anywhere between a day and a week's walk to Ribcage from here, and from the look of things, that was a fairly accurate assessment. The place was bleak to say the best of things, blasted and rocky, and generally unwelcoming. The spine they called it. Or Vale of the Spine. Whichever, really, did it matter if a dead man got the name of the location of the town with the portal to his death correctly?

Standing, brushing off his clothing, shouldering the glaive Rhedoc looked out over rocky plain, then noted, in fact, that Ribcage, gate town of Baator, was visible. Oh sure. You want to get someplace nice and it takes months, going to Baator, the Nine Hells? It'll spit you out right at the door, thanks for coming by, berk. Walk. One step, then the other, that's it. You can make it.

The air was surprisingly cool, uncomfortably cool, and thin. There were precious few places Rhedoc actually outright liked, and this was turning out not to be one of them. Between the hardness of the ground, the coldness of the air, and the giant sprawling town littered with blood-red streets and dark grey spires, who could blame him? The place was a giant illness on an otherwise alright plane.

Well… Ribcage here I come.

III.

The first thing was the smell. It was dark, yes, and the streets seemed paved in stones made of blood, yes. The buildings were made of a dark grey stone, probably because black would have just been too much evil in one particular place. But the first thing was the stench of death and misery. It is not a normal smell, not like roses or lilac or even rotting eggs. No, the smell of a miserable city is something one must practice and experience, and this city smelled worse than Sigil, which took some doing.

People moved around sullenly, when they moved around at all, most looked terrified or at least unhappy. Then there were Baatezu. Teams, gaggles, swarms, more than he was comfortable with. Demonic creatures in every shape and size, red skinned, scaled, four arms, three arms, none. Some had two or three heads, some looked like corpses given life and horrible sharp teeth. All of them looked bad, nasty, worse. They gave him looks that he knew meant bad things. He was an Aasimar, child of a celestial being, in the gate town to Hell. It was bound to raise some eyebrows.

Keep moving, Rhedoc, the portal out, or in, is ahead, in that… horrible… giant… black citadel. Wonderful. He walked along, swords flopping at his sides and back, cloak billowing a bit in the infernal air. His grip tightened on the glaive, face stony and impassive as he passed a group of leering creatures. Just a few more blocks.

"Well, well, well. Rhedoc Gwydion, champion of Chaos."

Pike it all! Just what he didn't need! The voice came from behind, and it carried with it a growl, a snarl, and a general undertone telling Rhedoc that it was not, in fact, used to speaking the common human tongue. Wonderful. Damn tanar'ri and his job. He wanted no part in this war…

"Yeah that's my name, though the honorific is a bit unnecessary."

He turned to see a positively huge thing, with red skin matching it's red eyes, with patches of black scale serving as armor. It had a sword strapped to its hip, and long black horns protruding from its forehead. Its muscles rippled, as though the muscles themselves had muscles, and all of the muscles had won a Largest Muscles in the Multiverse contest. It stood over eight feet tall, maybe nine, which was large enough to make Rhedoc think twice about ignoring it. A baatezu. Grand.

"Heard about your ride in Bytopia, Rhedoc. Didn't like what I heard."

"Look, I'm a pretty little guy, I don't argue with you types. Either side. A tanar'ri says 'hey do me a job or I'll eat you' I listen, I do the job, and I sob off as fast as my scrawny legs can carry me. One of you bloods wanders up and say 'do me a job or I eat you' I do the same thing. No desire to die," Rhedoc explained calmly.

"You're in the wrong place for that, berk," it leered.

"Oh?" buy time, get ready to bolt, ease your hand on the glaive, move to shoulder it further, easier to run that way…

"Yeah. This is Hell. You're going to find that not many fiends are as friendly as I am. Hell, I'm downright congenial. Most'd just eat you. Or rip you apart and leave the pieces as a warning to other berks. Come with me." A giant hand thumped down on Rhedoc's tiny shoulder. Damnit. He was led summarily into a side alley, and he prepared for the worst.

IV.

"So that's when I said 'pike all this, we're not going to solve the problem in my lifetime' and that's sayin' somethin' listen, you going into Baator, that's nice and all, downright barmy, but nice. What to save that girlie and all. But you're not walkin' out of there without help. As I see it, you need me."

This sodding baatezu was… renegade? Rogue? Refused to take part in the Blood War, and was now offering his services as a guide? In the Nine Hells? No this can't last. Can't be real. This has to be a setup.

The alley was dark, almost too dark. It smelled of darkness, darkness and decay. A wonderful place to have this conversation really, the air was heavy with filth. Rhedoc stood, hands resting easily on the hilts of his short swords, smiling nervously up at the large thing.

"Yeah. Yeah let's say I believe that line. What's to keep you from going back on me while we're in there?"

"We're making a deal, little aasimar. I never go back on my word, my word is law. Evil and stupidity are two different things entirely. The Blood War? That's stupidity. What when we could all march on Mount Celestia and wipe good from existence. It laughed a very loud and very frightening laugh. Rhedoc shuddered.

"Right. Back to that. So, I get you to Sigil where you can lay low once we're out of Baator, and in exchange, you get me to Cierra and the citadel in Dis where they're keeping her?"

"That would be the deal I proposed, little aasimar."

"Ah ha! Wait, you'll help me get into the citadel, not just get to it, right?"

"I must admit, I was hoping you would not catch that bit, but yes, yes I will help you get inside. But I will not help you fight the baatezu, when they inevitably fall upon you."

"You won't fight against me, though?"

"No."

"Promise?"

"You have my word."

V.

They stood at the pillar.

Aasimar and Baatezu.

The pillar was tall and red, with silvery flecks in it.

Rhedoc vomited.

They entered the pillar of fire.


	4. Chapter Three: Killing Time

**Chapter Three: Killing Time**

I.

As bad as Ribcage was, with the darkness and death, Dis was ten times worse. The place was like ash incarnate, yet much less pleasant than the plane of ash. It was hot, and the ground itself seemed to be made of lead and iron that burned when one walked on it. It was hard to breath under the ashen grey sky, and hard to see in the bleak blackened landscape. Rhedoc coughed heavily. As much as he'd avoided this plane so far, he'd spent that much time in it, trying to get toward some fortress of blackened iron. Large blackish things with leather wings and hideous beaks flocked overhead in the blackened skies, someone had named them vrocks, so Rhedoc had heard, and vrock perfectly imitated the hideous cries they made.

To hear Garzot, for that was the name of his guiding fiend, say it, the fortress was not itself the great city of Dis, and that was a small mercy, for if the archfiend of Dis held Cierra, there was no hope. Well, none beyond begging one of his possible fathers to intercede, and that would be just as foolhardy. Powers and celestials disliked being asked for things, especially by Rhedoc. He'd made most of them rather angry in his dealings.

"We almost there?" He breathed, stopping for a moment, not daring to sit on the blasted landscape.

"Almost. Another few hours' walking, and we'll be there. Why are you so eager to die, little aasimar?"

"Nothing you'd understand, Garzot, nothing at all. Note how I don't ask about you being quite atypical for a baatezu?"

Garzot simply frowned, as best his could with the permanent grimace that was his face. "I understand more than you think, little aasimar."

"Women. They make us do really barmy things, friend," Rhedoc replied sardonically.

"Now I am your friend? That remains to be seen. I am helping you, but only due to our business relationship."

More silence. Conversation came in short bursts between the two, the tentative alliance strained from the get go. Two sullen figures made their way across the harsh landscape, standing out in the bleak expanse of nothingness. One large shape with horns and a tail, another smaller one leaning heavily on a glaive, simply moving along as best they could.

II.

The fortress of Voradlak loomed in front of them like a single forbidding tooth jutting up from the wasteland of Dis. It's blackened walls stretched skyward, towers and turrets splitting off and away from it and further up, ever trying to claw a hole in the ceiling of the next layer above. Things like vrocks, and more hideous than vrocks flitted and soared around each spire like a group of flies buzzing over a dead corpse. This did not look well, and Rhedoc suddenly felt sick once more. He choked back the rising bile and stepped forward, slamming his fist repeatedly on the massive iron door. It hissed and sizzled, burning his hand, though he barely felt it. Somewhere within was Cierra, and that was cause enough to ignore the flesh-rending agony that ripped through his hand. Slowly but surely the undecorated rough-beaten blackened iron doors swung open, a throng of foul creatures of each imaginable manner clamoring within, trying to run out and throw themselves upon the celestial child who dared intrude upon them. All that held them back were a group of nearly identical creatures with greenish leathery skin and long scraggly beards. Each held a glaive of their own, serrated and vile.

Rhedoc moved forward, his free hand dipping to one of the short swords at his side. His face remained defiant, as Garzot followed in behind him, the sea of foulness parting before them as though they were unwelcome diplomats. As the path was made bare, a creature larger than any of them stood, rising half again higher than any other present. It was sickly thin, like a skeleton, with a scorpion tail and ragged teeth and claws. Small red dots made up eyes in its cavernous sockets, its hand clutching a great sword.

"You have come, Rhedoc Gwydion, and I must admit, I did not expect you to be so foolish," it rasped in a sickly menacing voice.

Rhedoc did not speak, he only stood like a pillar of light, something that should not be here.

"She speaks of you often, swears you will come and save her, or die trying," it joked easily, its voice taking on a playful sarcastic tone. The throng of devils roared in laughter behind him. Rhedoc's face remained stone.

"Are you going to laugh at me all day, or do we get to the part where you kill me?"

"I had thought things over before you arrived, and decided that, however foolish, your bravery would deserve a chance. We are nothing if not ordered. Lawful. You must defeat me in personal combat for any hope of rescuing the aasimar."

"I will do so, provided it is skill on skill alone. No devil tricks, no magic, just a straight fight."

"I accept these terms. You will still die, Rhedoc Gwydion."

The devils roared laughter once more. Garzot simply frowned.

III.

Sulfur and flame stung the nose in the harsh oppressive air. If there had been a sun, it would be directly overheard the circle that the baatezu had created, devils and other creatures cheering and jeering as Rhedoc stepped into the open ground. Cierra was there, suspended above the crowd in a cage of blackened iron. She looked weak, beautiful silken silver hair pouring down her shoulders as she laid there, watching sadly as the man she loved walked into his own death proudly. She was dressed only in torn rags, covering the vital parts of her body only just barely. It was hot, so very hot, and the iron citadel did not make things any easier. Sweat stood out in beads on Rhedoc's forehead, his gear set aside. All that adorned him was the smoky grey leather armor of the plane of smoke, and his two short swords. Maneuverability was key, he would never win this on strength alone.

The Osyluth moved into the circle, great sword hefted high in thin bony fingers. It roared and was joined by all the other fiends present, building into one loud maelstrom of sound. Rhedoc closed his eyes, inhaling, exhaling. It was almost killing time. He reached back slowly, tying back golden hair into a pony tail, keeping it from his sapphire eyes. It was almost killing time.

IV.

Parry, parry, spin, slash, parry, this could go on all day. Blades flickered and flashed in the light, Rhedoc moving quickly, dipping and diving in and out of blows. So far, neither had meaningfully connected to one another. The great sword swung high overhead and crashed with a loud thud into the dirt next to Rhedoc, his own off-hand blade swinging upward to glance harmlessly off of the Osyluth's hide.

He spun to one side, sure that he had avoided the next swing. Then it bit. The blade of the great sword fell hard, finding home in Rhedoc's chest. He felt three ribs cut, the blade passing easily through the bone. Blood gushed up, spewing out onto the ground, and Rhedoc tripped forward, landing on his hands and knees. It was bad, the cut was deep, through the muscle wall, through a few ribs, almost into the lung. Rhedoc gasped for breath as more blood splattered on the ground. He rolled over onto his back, head reeling.

There she was, dangling in that cage like meat. Her tears were falling freely, wetting the earth next to Rhedoc's head, her chest had stopped moving, she was holding her breath, clinging to the cage bars desperately, praying, wishing, hoping beyond hope that he could and would stand again. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Heroes were supposed to win…

He was swimming in blackness.

Nothing hurt.

Nothing was wrong.

Just let yourself go, give in…

NO.

On your feet, berk, she needs you. Get moving, ignore it, it's just blood. Spin, dive, fall, roll, keep moving, damn it, berk! Keep those swords moving! Distract him, ignore it, it's just blood, and you've got plenty. His swords moved almost blindingly fast, flickering in and out in impressive circles as he spun and weaved around. The Osyluth had no idea where to even strike, as a flurry of blows came in on him from almost every side. A few cuts went home in its body, but only from the silvery sword of Isabell Yuy.

The Osyluth fell back under the sudden and brutal onslaught of a man he thought to be dead. That's when he felt it in the nape of his neck. A prick, followed by a slight tension, followed by an explosion of pain, then darkness.

Rhedoc had swirled in behind the Osyluth and weaved the short sword up through the scales at the back of the creature's neck, slipping the full length of the blade in, popping the tip out the front of its throat, and showering the front arc of the crowd in blackened gore. Then he fell again into darkness, landing hard on the ground.


	5. Chapter Four: And Everything In Between

**Chapter Four: …And Everything In Between**

I.

"Wake up, berk."

There was a sensation, not unlike an explosion erupting in the side of Rhedoc's face. Everything in his body was on fire, in horrendous pain. The agony of it all was enough to make him, for one brief instant, wish he had failed. Though, by all the powers, it appeared he had not. It was hard, painful, too hard to open his eyes, and when he did, the light almost slammed them closed again. It was bright, wherever they were, and it stabbed into his skull repeatedly with a searing dagger. There was laughter, happy musical laughter, coming from right before his face, though his eyes were still blearily adjusting to the light. It soon came into focus; a beautiful woman, the most beautiful he'd ever seen, so much so his heart nearly stopped cold then and there. Her skin was the color of a soft cream, eyes brightest silver, nearing platinum. The hair, though, was the most eye-catching bit, that was a long river of shining silver, falling over small, perfectly detailed shoulders. This was the very picture of what woman was meant to be, and she stood before him, eyes scrunched into a laugh, giggle lifting to the ceiling.

He stood, slowly at first, touching a finger tentatively to the darkened red handprint on his face. Her calling card, waking Rhedoc up with a slap. His chest was wrapped in bandages which had since soaked clean through and turned a crusty ruddy-brown, hair surprisingly clean, she must have bathed him, or at least washed him, for he stood, wearing nothing but a pair of pants, as it dimly dawned upon his rapidly-awakening brain. These were not his pants, nor had he ever owned a pair like them. Slowly, he tried walking, and needles shot up through the bottoms of his feet, racing their way up his legs and over the rest of his body. A quick grimace and he was sucking it up, moving on, ignoring it. Those dangerous silver eyes glinted wildly and beautifully, and his pain was gone in the same heartbeat. He was lifting her, raising her, then pulling her closer, pressing her small body against his broken chest, and not caring about the explosion that happened there, as ribs not yet fully-healed tore through muscle.

Their lips met.

II.

They'd been keeping kip in Sigil for quite some time, according to Cierra. Apparently he'd been unconscious for over a week, and now that he'd risen, she'd gotten a cleric to fix his broken ribs once and for all. It was easy enough, with her kind of money, to put someone back together. His equipment was all there, right to the last copper penny, laid out in perfect order on a table Cierra'd brought into the room. It was a filthy little room, much like the one all this had started in, probably in the same inn. That would not do, too many people from Rhedoc's past came to the Open Shell, and he had no intention of seeing them. Not yet, not with so much left unsaid and undone. Now was time for Cierra, time for them both to be together and live together, without externals and jobs and 'have to-s' and 'why not?-s.'

"You know, I'd almost thought I'd lost you," her voice rang out like music as she glided into the room carrying a pitcher of water and two glasses. Her simple white gown clung to every subtle nuance of her body, making him wish his chest didn't burn so badly, even after the healing, "addle-coved barmy, going into Baator after me. Should have left me alone and gone on with your life."

He groaned and stood. Wonderful, now it was the 'you shouldn't have saved me' lecture. "What life is that, exactly? Not one I'm interested, not without you."

She smiled a simple, sweet smile, as though she hadn't been quite expecting a line like that from the womanizing aasimar she'd known. To tell the truth, she hadn't. Rhedoc, for all his good parts, was an inveterate flirt. From barmaids to bariaur, she'd seen him at least wink at something of every race, caste, and social type in the planes. This sort of frank monogamous speech simply caught her off guard, and she liked hearing it.

"No, I mean it. I don't want a life without you in it, I don't care how long it might go on. It would go that long meaninglessly," he continued, pushing from the bed. He lifted a knife from the belt on the table and began removing bandages. They came off with a sickening suckling noise near where the wound once was, the blood either congealed or dried, making a sort of crackling sound. It hit the floor with a combined squish, crack and flop, depending on what hit where.

"You mean it, then? What are your exact intentions, Rhedoc Gwydion?" Her eyes were full of amusement, thinking she'd called him on some grand charade, triumphant even.

He went down on one knee.

"No! Get up, berk, get up! Not here, not now, not if you really mean it!" she rushed to him, grasping his upper arm, hauling him up to his feet.

Rhedoc stood, confused and bewildered. Had not this woman just asked his intentions? Had she not desired to know what he wanted from her, for now and for always? Then why this?

"You can't just ask me. My father will be furious. First get permission from him, then ask me, by the powers, you are a berk!"

That explained it, and in short order. Awfully convenient, if you asked him. He sighed and shook his head, blonde hair falling free and into his eyes as he spoke, "Then I suppose we're bound for Elysium once more, my love?"

Her eyes lit up brighter than he'd ever seen. She seemed sublimely happy, enthusiastic, and terrified all at once. In a matter of moments, he was dressed and armored, going through his bags. Cierra's head tilted as she looked at him quizzically. A simple burlap bag hit the table with a jingle, followed by a sort of crumple of another burlap bag. His gloved hand then deftly moved to overturn the first bag, spilling gold coins out onto the table. "Your payment from Bytopia." Followed by the other bag. Crumbs and broken pieces of baked goods fell out onto the table, most of it had not survived Baator. "Cookies from your mum."

She simply laughed and embraced him. Hard. He felt as though perhaps she might put his ribcage back into its previous state with the severity of her hugging, but it soon ended as he lifted her from the ground once more, spinning her and laughing. Soon they were both laughing, and falling, lips brushing against one another's unabashedly.

III.

They stood in front of the same portal as he took into Elysium at the start of all of this, each one with an arm 'round the other, free hands clutching gilt rosebuds.

One last squeeze.

A glowing.

A sucking feeling.

A quick rush…

THUD.


	6. Chapter Five: Finding Our Way

**Chapter Five: Finding Our Way**

I.

It was easily as beautiful as he'd remembered it, that little town clustered comfortably together in Amoria, the first layer of Elysium. The aasimar couple had taken almost no time at all to find the town again, their intentions pure and honest. The plane liked honest people, it liked good people, and good people got places faster. Simple truth, nothing more. Cierra had remained as radiant as ever, if not more so, the entire trip, and for once, Rhedoc had to admit he was enjoying himself. He was on a nice upper plane, with good company, on his way to retirement, things were absolutely perfect.

Golden beams of sunlight streamed into Isabell Yuy's cottage, illuminating wooden tables, beds, a few chairs, and dried herbs hanging from the rafters. It was small, yet homey, and, as Rhedoc sat looking out of the window and down into the main thoroughfare of the town, he smiled softly, closing his eyes. It was warm, it was home. Smells wafted out of Isabell's oven, telling tales of the enormous meal she was preparing, and he hoped he was up to the challenge. If the cookies were any indicator of her skill with baked goods, he'd surely try with all his might to eat whatever she made.

Isabell pushed the door open and moved into the cottage, apron skirts brushing the floor as she carried a small woven basket in with her, loaves of bread and wheels of cheese poking out around a cloth top. She smiled brightly to Rhedoc, moving on past him to the kitchen.

"She's right, you do sleep all day when left alone," her musical voice chimed.

Isabell was followed closely by her daughter, smiling brightly as she carried her own basket. Cierra stopped only to kiss Rhedoc's cheek lightly and move on to the kitchen with her mother. Rhedoc only smiled and stretched once more with a great sigh. This plane was simply wonderful.

II.

Brunch was amazing, Isabell had scrambled six eggs with green peppers and onion and a strong, yet fitting cheese. She then grilled sausages over an open flame in the fireplace, then chopped them, adding them into the mix. This was followed with lightly toasted slices of fresh-baked bread, fresh fruits, cheeses, and large tankards of milk. Apparently, Isabell had decided to be the resident mommy of Amoria, as she was quite good at caring for people.

The three sat around the table after a far too large brunch, smiling back and forth. Cierra's father, whom they'd come to meet, was not currently on the plane, he was away on business. This was normal, as Devas were often called away to do the business of their patrons. He was due to return soon, however, and that was good. Rhedoc did not think he could bear waiting much longer. Devas were known to be fair and kind, but also wrathful and terrible, and he was hoping her father was more the former than the latter.

Amoria was still and even, and people milling about hardly made any noise in their pleasant day to day affairs, and today was no different than any other. That is why it came as such a shock when there were screams and shouts coming from the heart of the town.

In the space of a heartbeat, all three present were on their feet, grasping armor and shimmying into it quickly. Rhedoc and Isabell buckled on pairs of short swords in tandem, something Rhedoc noted with some idle curiosity, but he had no time to inquire as to this oddity before all three were running instinctively toward the sound. Rhedoc ran in his smoke-colored leather armor, short sword bouncing at his hips; Isabell was not far behind in what appeared to be a silver and green chain mail shirt, short swords likewise dancing around very shapely hips. She was easily as beautiful as her daughter. Cierra ran behind, in heavier banded armor of metal strips and chain undershirt. Her glaive was hoisted form the ground, aimed down for a possible charge if danger reared.

III.

They arrived too late, as the fire leapt and danced higher and higher into the ash-blackened sky. Isabell choked and coughed, not having just been to Baator, and not being used to such air. Cierra's nose wrinkled as she looked around desperately for what may have caused all this, Rhedoc's swords already out. His hands were moving on their own, even without an enemy present, slowly rotating the blades as they flickered and shimmered in the flame's light, the tips moving in circles, confusing, intricate.

Each tentatively took another step further, breath held in, waiting. Something was bound to happen, and happen soon. Things like this did not happen in Elysium, and that was odd enough, let alone that baatezu had taken Cierra so recently as well. Occasionally, a pillar of smoke and ash japed and jeered, and Rhedoc nearly dove at them, thinking them baatezu come back for Cierra. But no, no Rhedoc was not so lucky. They had not come back for Cierra. The wall of a nearby home exploded as a massive spider-creature came through it. The thing had black chitinous skin, with eight huge spidery legs ending in spear-like points. It had a man's torso with a spider's head atop it, like a hideous nightmare creature. A body hung from one of the legs, impaled through the torso.

At this, Rhedoc flung himself, unthinking, blindly trying to draw it away from what he was sure was its target, Cierra's cries for him to stop falling on ears blocked by bloodlust and hatred. Isabell ran forward to stop him, but it was too late. A meaty fist landed on Rhedoc's head, knocking him to the ground, another scooping him up as the creature beat a retreat faster than Cierra or Isabell could possibly match, leaving both women standing, horrified by what had just happened. Cierra could only scream and cry as her fists beat the dirt over and over in the growing fires.

IV.

He was dimly aware of moving as he woke, cradled in the arms of a spider-creature from a lower plane. His weapons remained on him, he armor the same. That was a blessing, a mercy. Why had he done that? Blindly attacked, that was stupid. Berk, now you'll never see her again. Welcome to the piking Blood War, and the end of your piking life. Berk. Well good, at least his life was over and he wouldn't have to live without Cierra for long. One stupid move and you lose her forever, you berk. You absolute berk.

It all happened so fast. He had no time to assess the situation at all, everything was moving. The creature was speaking in some language or other, guttural and filthy. They were laughing, probably about the aasimar's fate. Then things erupted, exploding into activity. A spear pushed through his captor's chest, followed by two arrows. Rhedoc rolled free of the dying fiend, swords coming loose in his hands. He spun, not quite sure what at, but finding home regardless as he ripped open another fiend's chest. There was a warm spatter across his cheek and he turns, seeing two dead fiends laying on the ground.

A figure approached, feminine, and the very definition thereof. She was lovely, shapely, the kind of woman men killed for. Her hair was long and bright red, skin an ashen tan. She wore a black leather corset and hip-boots with black leather gloves, everything clinging to her perfect form tightly. A long sword bounced at her hip, a quiver at her back. It took a moment, but this woman… she looked familiar…

"Alanicia… Alanicia, Brells' friend, aren't you?" he choked out to the woman. She simply smiled a small smile that lit him on fire inside.

"Thought you might need a little help, cutter," she purred, coming closer. That's right, she'd left Brells, now that he thought about it. Now if only he could remember why…

"Where in the Nine Hells of Baator are we, Al?"

He looked around the place he was now in. It was a forest, but a black one, with mold and moss clinging to blackened and dark brown tree trunks. There was ankle-deep fetid water all around, and the smell was horrible. At least Al was here, and that was a blessing. Sometimes a friendly face made all the difference.

They set out, walking at Alanicia's direction, toward the nearest town, which was by her reckoning, Plague-mort, Gate Town of the Abyss.

V.

Plague-mort was farther away than Rhedoc would have liked, and it loomed huge in the distance. It's blackened spires and hideous sprawl into the swamp was very indicative of how he felt about all of the lower planes. The buildings were craggy, broken, and breaking, with blackened rock and obsidian making them up, the brackish waters of the swamp rising to meet black iron walls.

For the whole trip, Rhedoc had been trying to remember what Brells had said about Alanicia, something about the breakup. It hadn't ended well between the Godsman and the tiefling, not at all, and there was something important Rhedoc should be remembering about her. Brells was his friend, and never lied to them before. As she neared the gate, hips swaying seductively, it happened. Something clicked in his brain. She was a gold-digger, she only stayed where there was money… and something else… yes! Yes, she kept Brells enchanted! That was it! It would be careful going from here, for sure. Never let her out of your sight, berk, and never let her start casting. In Plague-mort they'd be able to jump a portal back to the Cage, and then on back to Elysium, lickety-split. Hang on, Cierra, here I come.


	7. Chapter Six: The Rescue

**Chapter Six: The Rescue**

I.

They'd been living in Plague-mort for days now, and Rhedoc very much disliked it. Damn gate town to the Abyss, and it lived up to its reputation. Baatezu were one thing, they could be counted on predictably to try and kill you, or get you caught in a deal you couldn't renege. These tanar'ri, on the other hand, they were wild, unpredictable, and he hated every inch of them. Whenever one looked him over, it felt like he was being sized up for the Blood War, and in truth, he probably was. The War was a nasty business, baatezu and tanar'ri had decided countless ages ago that the other group were anathema and needed a good destroying. War still raged on to this day, no side looking any different than when it started, mostly on account of more and more of them being created every day. Tanar'ri were the worst, though they shared Rhedoc's wild and chaotic spirit, they were quite delightfully evil, and thought nothing of downright murdering people for no reason at all. And so Rhedoc was nervous.

Alanicia had reassured him that everything would be alright, she had kip here, and they'd be left alone for as long as it took to get news on the Elysium raid. So far she'd been right. He hated staying here, but if the chant was to be believed, he was the reason they'd attacked in the first place, so he'd stay here until things got worked out. The creature that had taken him turned out to be a Bebilith, a greater tanar'ri spider creature. The tanar'ri had attacked Elysium to get Rhedoc, for recruitment. He had, afterall, done a job for a tanar'ri in Bytopia, and he had said something when he'd returned about the Blood War or recruitment. Alanicia's contacts had told her the raid was over, but they were looking for Rhedoc elsewhere, and that meant laying low. He missed her badly, her smile, her touch… Cierra was everything, it killed him being apart from her.

The door to the little hovel opened, shedding light into the darkened room, casting shadows from the stark decorations. Alanicia walked in, and she looked absolutely radiant for some reason.

II.

Cierra had seen Rhedoc snatched up by the monster, seen it teleport away. It was disturbing to her how the monster could even move around and get from place to placeon Elysium, as it was evil. None of that mattered, though. Rhedoc had to be saved, and speculation on the nature of the planes would not do that. She wandered down a road in Sigil, in the Clerks' Ward. Everything was orderly here, calm, and on each street corner stood a man proclaiming news for the day from each of the planes and each of their cities. It was truly something to hear, as one walked through the streets of the Ward, hearing all there was to hear on the planes, it was wonderful. Cierra, however, did not notice. The world was a dark grey to her, and nothing mattered but saving Rhedoc from whatever fate befell him at the hands of the Bebilith. If need be, she'd walk into whatever realm his dead spirit was shipped off to and demand his return, it hadn't seemed hard when Rhedoc did it for his mother all those months ago.

Isabell had packed her a lunch, and she nibbled dully on the sandwich, not tasting much but wet salt from her own cheeks. She'd purchased information on a portal leading from Sigil to the Abyssal gate town, and from there, she'd be able to find out whatever had happened to her love. She chided herself, swearing she'd never have done this for a man, that she was getting weak. She didn't need Rhedoc, or anyone. Why, then, was she following after him blindly, chasing him like a lost puppy? To no small extent, it bothered her, and yet, she loved him, and it seemed all right to do so.

Well, here she was, mouth of the alley, holding a bit of moldy bread. There was that familiar glow, and soon she'd be off again, all too soon, traipsing across the multiverse on an adventure. Just wondrous. She had intended to retire with Rhedoc and live out her days happily in Elysium. Well, so much for plans.

III.

She was flying.

Falling.

Rising.

Slipping through mud and molasses.

There was his smile rising up to meet her.

Paradise.

THUD.

IV.

She landed hard on what felt like red hot iron. She screamed and rolled off of it, cradling her shoulder like a wounded dove, to the laughter of what she only assumed were tanar'ri in her blind pain. Cierra stood, still holding her shoulder, and looked around the room where she now found herself. It was dark, to be sure, and she had been laying on a massive anvil next to a large forge. There were a few lesser tanar'ri, probably manes or dretches, working the forge, who'd stopped to peer at her and laugh at her pain. Her hand tightened on her glaive and she continued to walk, angry at herself and the multiverse all at once. Stupid Rhedoc, getting kidnapped. How dare he?

It was smoky and black outside the little hut, the ground hot and the sky black. All manner of dark things walked the streets, and she shuddered to think of her Rhedoc being dragged through here. She could see the fear and confusion in those perfect blue eyes, the realization he'd never see her again. That was all it took to firm her resolve. She moved on, pressing past a group of leering tanar'ri. She would find Rhedoc.

V.

Down the blackened streets she went, asking each information broker she crossed, sometimes begging for them to say if they'd seen him. None had. In fact, the name Rhedoc Gwydion didn't even seem to ring a bell, even amongst the greater tanar'ri present. It was odd how they'd captured him specifically, not knowing anything about him. Unless it was completely random, which would definitely fit their description. She had almost given up, tears coming so freely she was nearly blind, when she ran into someone, quite literally.

"Watch where you're going, berk," came the feminine voice, alluring, attractive, everything a man could ever want. Even some things a woman could want.

Cierra squinted in the light, taking in the features of the woman before her, and slowly, very slowly, realization kicked in.

"Alanicia! You sodding whore!" she spat. Cierra, too, was Brells' friend, but she remembered outright that Alanicia had cowed him magically into submission, and then used him for all his money.

"Sod off, aasimar," she returned, shoving past Cierra and wandering off into the crowd. That was her mistake. As she left, Cierra noted the woman's cloak. It was a very nice Elysian cloak, and a bit small. One that might, in fact, fit Cierra herself. One Cierra had worn before, one her mother had bought her before leaving home. Alanicia knew where Rhedoc was.

It was hard for Cierra to follow someone, she was no rogue like Rhedoc was, but she had a more failsafe way of being invisible. Her slender hand dipped into her pouch, and she removed a small piece of gummy material. One more dip into the bag and she had an eyelash. She pressed the eyelash into the gum as she walked after the tiefling, wrapping the gum around it. Her voice spoke on its own, speaking words she did not know, her hands moved of their own accord, weaving in the air as she faded from sight. Now, Alanicia, take me to Rhedoc.

VI.

Alanicia did not disappoint, apparently. She wandered into a hut, and Cierra pressed up to a window. Surely enough, there was Rhedoc, looking haggard and worried. Alanicia walked in the door, and Rhedoc stood, running to her, enfolding the tiefling in a warm embrace. Cierra was almost livid. Her eyes burned, stomach turning within her, hands clenched shut so tightly her knuckles whitened. She was dimly aware of her hands trembling as she watched them kiss through the window. Then the whore looked at her, looked out the window and saw her, grinning triumphantly.

Cierra collapsed in the alleyway where she'd found the window, letting soot and dust settle on her, dulling her silver hair. She wept bitterly, her life empty, desolate. Her mind did not even try to put up a wall, no defense for her, she was not strong enough without him. Then something happened, something she remembered. She rifled though her backpack, finding an old letter wrapped around some spell components, and she read it.

"Oh, and if you see Alanicia, stay away form her. She was keeping me spelled and taking my jink."

That was it! She stood again, casting once more as everything magically enchanted in her vision glowed faintly. Sure enough, Rhedoc glowed. He'd been enchanted, that vile contemptible witch, she'd stolen Rhedoc from her!

V.

Alanicia barely had time to roll to one side as the door exploded. A jet of fire burst into the room, blowing the door to splinters, and melting the iron table, Rhedoc stood, alarmed by the attack. Had the tanar'ri found him? What was happening? Cierra strode into the room like an angel, light dazzling off of her banded armor, her silver hair whipping back behind her like a mane of fury, eyes blazing, flickering in the light of her jet of flame. As the fires died, she hefted the glaive at her side, turning, enraged, on Alanicia.

"He is mine, you will have him no more!" Cierra screamed, her voice carrying the full fury of her own father.

"I've won him from you, give up!" Alanicia shrieked, making a slash with a short sword.

Cierra ducked to one side, slamming down her glaive in one fluid motion full of grace and anger. It caught Alanicia in the back, slicing her open. Without another word, the tiefling ran at full speed out the door, screaming and wailing the whole way.

Then Cierra rounded on Rhedoc. All he saw was the butt of the glaive, then darkness.

VI.

Golden sunlight streamed in the window, hitting Rhedoc's face. He woke slowly, the bed soft and warm, the body next to him softer and warmer. She was laying next to him, of that he was sure, as he wrapped an arm around her, the headache fading slowly from him. Had all that happened? Yes, yes it had, he could smell the burnt wood wafting in the window. He still had scratches and small cuts from the Bebilith, though his memory was more than a bit fuzzy. He remembered kissing Alanicia, laying with her. Never in a million years would that have happened, no sodding way. Rhedoc Gwydion knew better than to do that, and Cierra was a thousand times more important to him than to waste her on one night with a tiefling. Nope, Rhedoc Gwydion would never be unfaithful to his beloved Cierra. End of story. Must have beena dream

As he woke, Cierra simply smiled. She'd won, her victory sweet, and her reward sweeter. He was warm and soft, and he held her when he thought she was asleep. Then she heard him talking, muttering to himself. Something about never being with a tiefling, stupid dreams, and so forth. She simply smiled and sighed. My silly aasimar.


	8. Chapter Seven: Bale

**Chapter Seven: Bale**

I.

He stood tall in the golden morning sunshine of Elysium, looking out across a small valley housing a village, a river and a large lake all nestled within a forest of silvery green leaves. Bronzed tan skin met the sunlight and almost shone, silver hair spilling down over his shoulders as powerful hands reached back to pull it into a pony tail and bring it off of his eyes. His frame was strong, powerful, and compact, draped in a shining brilliant chain mail hauberk. There was a bastard sword slung low on his hip and a bright shield on his back bearing a golden sunburst. This was Bale Yuy, husband of Isabell, father of Cierra, and Deva of Elysium.

Bale wandered down from his perch atop a ring of craggy rock surrounding his little hamlet, taking a well-worn path into the valley. He passed woodsmen and farmers, children at play, nodding and smiling to each in turn as he walked. They were all more than amiable, everyone knew Bale, and respected him. As a servant of a goddess of good, they trusted him; as a loving father and husband, they accepted him. He was both one of them and something more at the same time.

The village was abuzz with activity by the time he sauntered into it, leather boots padding along the dirt path, raising little puffs of dust with each footfall. It was a small village, with small buildings, all of them white-washed with golden thatched roofs. Some had small picket fences, some were bigger, denoting a town hall, a church, and a tavern. Still some more had flower gardens, herb gardens, and window boxes. All in all, the cobble-stoned streets and darling little houses all made the place seem homey and sincere, if not a bit hokey. What had changed today, and this was big because nothing had changed in ten years, was there were visitors. Two of them, clad in full armor and bearing weaponry, planewalkers by the looks of them both.

One was clearly an aasimar with golden hair and shining blue eyes, standing tall, his athletic body clad in a smoky grey leather armor, two short swords hanging from his hips, daggers sheathed over his chest, a long sword at his back. He carried himself with noble bearing, though his grin seemed to hint at a much more carefree interior. As Bale looked the boy over, he noted fear hiding behind that bravado.

The other was a woman, silver hair covered by a shining helm with feathered wings on the sides. A flawless frame was clothed in banded mail, a gauntleted hand clasping a glaive tightly. This woman was known to Bale, and known well. It was his daughter, and he hadn't seen her in years. He ran to her openly, smiling broadly, scooping her up into a tight embrace while laughing lightly and happily.

Something clicked in Bale's mind at that moment. He hadn't seen his daughter in years. Now she showed up here in his town, when she'd never before come on her own. He'd always visited her at her mother's home. Here she was, looking apologetic, in his town… with this blonde-haired boy… Bale's eyes narrowed.

II.

Something had not been right. Two attacks, one by Baatezu and one by Tanar'ri. On Elysium, the odds of that are quite bad, if not outright impossible. Something not right at all. Fire in a village, a girl getting kidnapped, this all had to boil down to something, and Isabell Yuy intended to find out exactly what that was. She wandered the streets of Sigil looking for an ear, an eye, an old friend she'd not seen in a long time. The hem of her green cloak brushed the once-familiar filthy cobblestones of the Sigil street, soft brown leather boots tapping against them. Silver-green chain mail jingled as she walked, her swords clattering against it harmlessly, yet noisily. Isabell was every bit the mother of Cierra, they shared a common form, slight, athletic and shapely; though where Cierra's silver hair showed her father's heritage, Isabell had simple blonde hair with bright blue eyes, clear as crystal.

The Grand Bazaar of Sigil was huge, and if you were looking for anything, you could find it here. It was the home of the Free League, the Faction in the planes that just wanted to be left alone, dictating individuality and freedom. It was Isabell's Faction, from back when she went off gallivanting throughout the multiverse with Bale at her side, righting wrong and fighting evil. Those were good days, if not dangerous and frightening days. The Bazaar was alive today in the dusky Sigil afternoon, oily rain smattering about on tents, shacks, stands and the crowd. People were crowding around stands, sharing gossip and news, along with money and goods. Things changed little here.

A hand fell onto her shoulder.

She spun, blade naked.

Laughter, light and merry met her blade, and she sighed, sheathing it once more. The man standing behind her was tall, abnormally so, with long dark blue hair and stark white skin. His eyes were as two pools of midnight blue, and he wore a shimmering suit of banded mail that appeared as though wet. Lips curled into a toothy grin, eyes glinting merrily at Isabell.

"It's been a long time, Isa, what no hug?"

She smiled and enfolded her arms around the Air Genasi. "It's good to see you again, Rhys. Very good."

"Likewise. How is Bale? And little Cierra, how is she?"

"Bale is managing his little village in Elysium like he said he would, and little Cierra is no longer little. She's taken her potential fiancé, Rhedoc Gwydion, to meet Bale."

"Rhedoc Gwydion? The Indep? The one that peeled Zeus of the soul?"

"The very same one," Isabell said, grinning. She was of the opinion her daughter had found quite the catch, as she was also of the Free League, an Indep. "Now, about what I was asking?"

"Right. Follow me, we're not talking here. I know a place, the Open Shell, not far from here."

III.

"You want to what?"

The Deva's voice was loud. A little louder than Rhedoc liked, and he cringed a bit more than he should have in light of what was happening. He felt cold all over his body, and white-hot in the cheeks; he was very aware that he was sweating profusely, and he knew his hands were trembling of their own volition. That did not make the aasimar comfortable one bit. He moved back in his chair a bit before answering.

"I intend to marry your daughter."

Those eyes narrowed. Which in Rhedoc's mind was a statistical impossibility, as something could not possibly have gotten narrower than they already were, without actually touching and being closed. They stared into his deeply, burning a hole into him, making him even more uncomfortable. Cierra only stood in the corner of the small hut, smirking. The place was claustrophobically small, and exactly square, with a small round table in the center, housing Rhedoc and Bale at opposite ends. It was dark, and smelled faintly musty, as though it hadn't been used often. The only light that entered was through the tiny windows, and judging by the heavy breathing and soft whispers he heard, Rhedoc would wager a thousand of whatever anyone cared to bet that there were people outside, crowding around those tiny holes, listening to the Deva rip into him for daring to presume he may have been good enough for Cierra.

Rhedoc wanted very badly to look back over his shoulder, to get a reassuring glance from Cierra, letting him know that they'd remain together, regardless of her father. However, he could barely move in the intense glare coming off of the Deva before him. It was almost too much to bear, and with the absolute silence that had filled the room for almost three minutes now, it was not getting any easier on the aasimar. Bale inhaled slowly, eyes closing, as if trying to plan his next phrase perfectly, so as not to mince words.

IV.

"So this goes deeper than anyone's even guessed, is what you're saying."

Isabell sat in a small room, speaking to her genasi friend. He'd just finished telling her a fantastic tale. It started with two bariaur, two tieflings, a fire genasi, and, of all things, a tanar'ri. They went to the Abyss, and ran across a bebilith stealing the divine spark of a deva, and taking it into itself. The small group of misfits promised the deva that they would bring it back to Elysium, so that it could heal, though they knew not what they were doing. The bebilith followed, and that's where the extraordinary bit starts. Apparently, the spark of the deva started influencing the bebilith to do good deeds. It became a better creature through its theft, and the group had to make a decision: once they regained the spark, would they allow the bebilith to keep it, or would they return it to the deva?

In the end, they split the divine fire between the two creatures, again, not knowing what they were doing in the process. With the fire of the divinely good within it, and the definition of abject evil as well, the bebilith warred with itself inside its own body, creating a small rift in the way Elysium itself worked. Where this bebilith went, anything could follow, and even move. That was how tanar'ri were invading Elysium, capturing people; that was why baatezu were able to sntach up citizens on slave raids. There was a tiny loophole in the plane's laws, and that loophole would have to be closed, as soon as possible.

"How do we stop it, then?" she asked.

V.

Bale's laughter thundered across the room, causing Rhedoc to shudder once more. The Deva'd been laughing for about five minutes now, uncontrollably. Rhedoc did not find anything nearly so funny as this silver-haired menace seemed to. The sooner this ended, the better, he hated feeling like a trapped rat in a cage.

"Of course, boy, of course. If my daughter would be happy with you, then she can be with you, I'd never stand in the way of that. What would possess you to even ask that of me?" Bale said in his deep and impressive voice. Rhedoc simply shot a glare at Cierra, who was by now, doubled over in the corner barely containing her own laughter.

"Oh very funny! Very sodding funny!" Rhedoc stood, the chair he had been sitting in toppled behind him, falling to the floor with a clatter, "is the entire plane so piking hilarious? First your mother, now your father, is there anyone in your life that doesn't enjoy treating me like a complete berk?"

Cierra stood slowly, hurt playing across her large blue eyes as she approached, reaching a delicate hand to Rhedoc's cheek. His anger faded a bit at the gentle touch of her feather-light fingertips. Then she slapped him. "Were you so caught up in the pomp and circumstance that you missed the answer? Get up, berk, I didn't hit you that hard."

He stood, slowly, a bit confused, but otherwise fine. Every once in a while, the aasimar needed a wakeup call, and Cierra was more than able to provide such for him. She loved him very much, but she loved him enough to not take his whining and whimpering when she knew he was better than that. He knew this as well, and bore her no ill will. Rhedoc was a berk, he knew he was a berk, and he was alright with that.

Rhedoc stood, offering Cierra a tight hug before looking back to Bale. "Thank you, sir. For all you've done and all you might do in the future."

"No, Rhedoc, thank you, for what you will do for us here in Elysium. Now take your fiancée and go to Sigil. Meet with Isabell in the Open Shell Inn, she's got things to tell you."

Rhedoc simply nodded, looking to Cierra. His hand dipped into his belt pouch and produced the same small ring he'd bought in Sigil all those weeks or months ago, however long it had been. It didn't matter, he was thinking more clearly now than he had been for a long time as his hand moved out to hold the ring to Cierra. Clear blue eyes met his own, and she nodded quietly, not speaking as her own small slender fingers touched the ring and slipped it on. They stood there a long moment, content in the presence of each other before moving on out of the hut to find a portal to Sigil. Even the engaged still had things to do before a wedding.


End file.
